New York - The Novel

Weston how to bat and bowl. “Though I’ve nothing to teach him about fielding,” he’d laugh. “I’d hate to be batting if Weston were on the other team.”
    Grey Albion had been in high favor with John Master since the night of the fire. Indeed, as the months went by he’d become like a second son to John and a favorite uncle to Weston. Though he was in his late twenties, almost as old as James, there was something boyish about him, with his handsome face and unruly hair. He would romp with Weston, make the other young officers join in a game of blind man’s buff, like so many children, or once in a while organize some outrageous practical joke upon Abigail herself that kept the household laughing for days.
    She knew that other girls thought him attractive. “It’s so unfair,” they cried, “that you should have him living in your house.” But if his blue eyes melted the other girls, she had long ago decided that she was not so impressed herself. Besides, he treated her entirely as a little sister. Indeed, at times she found him almost infuriating—not because of anything he did, but on account of his assumption of superiority.
    “This business with the rebels will soon be over,” he’d assure her. “Another battle or two against a real army and they’ll run like rabbits to their holes. They’re just a rabble led by men who aren’t gentlemen—I exclude James of course.”
    Not that the other young officers she met thought any differently. They all had the same easy contempt for the rebels, as they always called the Patriots. For even if they understood that the colonists might have had complaints, once a man took up arms against the king, he was a rebel, and rebels must be put down. There was nothing more to say.
    Indeed, when it came to James’s choice to be a Patriot, Albion was honestly mystified. Abigail seldom spoke of James in his presence. But although, if his name came up, Albion only spoke to her about James with respect and affection, she once overheard him telling her father: “To tell you the truth, sir, I cannot imagine what made him do it. If he walked into the room now, I don’t know what I’d say to him.”
    Once she had tried to question him about her brother’s wife. Around the turn of the year, John Master had received a letter from Vanessa. In it she told him that she had received a communication from James, letting her know that he was with the Patriots, and that Weston was in New York. She did not disguise her feelings. In her bold hand, the words stood out in capitals: SHAMEFUL, TRAITOR, VILLAIN. She thanked God, at least, that her little son was in such safe and loyal hands, and hoped that the time would soon come when she and Weston should be reunited. Though when this was to be, and in what manner, she did not say.
    “What is Vanessa like?” she’d asked Albion.
    “Oh, a very handsome lady,” he’d answered.
    “I mean her character.”
    “Well …” He had seemed to hesitate. “I do not often move in such high circles, so I don’t know her well. But when we met, she was always very civil to me. She has a fine wit. She’s known for it.”
    “Does she love Weston?”
    “I think every mother loves her child, Miss Abigail.” He’d pausedbefore adding, somewhat enigmatically, “But a fashionable lady cannot always spare a lot of time for her children.”
    “And does she love my brother?”
    “I’m sure she would not have married without love.” He’d paused again. “Though she cannot approve his becoming a rebel.”
    “Why does she not come here?”
    “Ah.” He had looked a little flummoxed. “She knows that Weston is safe with your father. I expect she’ll have him sent to England in due course. She probably thinks the crossing is too dangerous at present, with Patriot privateers upon the sea.”
    Since Patriot privateers were no match for British convoys, this last excuse was weak. But Albion had seemed reluctant to say more, and she hadn’t pressed him.
    As for news of James, the last autumn had been the most worrying time. Even moving at his usual snail’s pace, it had not taken General Howe long to drive Washington and his army across the Hudson River. Harlem Heights, White Plains, and the rebel strongholds on the river, Fort Washington and Fort Lee, all fell. Huge numbers of Patriots were killed, thousands taken prisoner. Then General Cornwallis had chased Washington south, past Princeton and over the Delaware River into